Civilian
by Pax Moony
Summary: After Ulquiorra's death and Orihime is rescued, she takes a walk to clear her head and catch her breath.


_Hey there! I got bored and decided to write a oneshot for this pairing. May seem a little… eh… I'm pretty new to the series, but my friend requested this and a few other things. So here. A little depression for you. Anyway. This is just a oneshot. Very short. Very depressing. I won't be adding anything to this, and though I'll be writing a few more things for this series, they're mostly requests from my dear Bialy. Still I hope you enjoy it. Cheers! Or… tears. Whichever you prefer._

_~Moony_

"I am nothing without pretend. I know my thoughts; can't live with them... I am perfectly able to hold my own hand, but I still can't kiss my own neck."

-Wye Oak

She stepped along the crowded street with wary eyes and a jaded spirit. The return home was long, and she was in no mood to see anyone at all. After all that had happened today, she wasn't sure she wanted to see anyone ever again. Perhaps she hadn't spent much time with the fourth Espada, but that didn't stop her from caring. She never wanted him to die.

She could still see the way he'd reached for her; she could still feel, between her fingers, his own as they dissipated and fell to ash. She could still see his hard, melancholic expression soften as he hurtled toward his impending death, and she could still hear the words falling from his lips as he began to fade away.

"Do I scare you, woman?" As she reached for him, her fear of him melted away, and she saw him clearly for the first time. He'd wanted nothing more in that moment to understand her, and to understand himself. Feelings that he'd never known existed before reigned him as he turned to nothing. There was only the soft, serene expression upon his face as he left. He turned to watch her, and she was the last thing he saw before he was gone. Surely, there must be something in the end, even for something like him. Someone like him.

"I'm not afraid," she whispered again, into the palm of her hand as she stumbled along the sidewalk, paying little attention to the time of day or the direction in which she was going. "I'm not afraid." How cruel it seemed, now that she thought of it, that he should die just as he found his own emotions. There would be no second chance. Ultimately, she'd managed to find emotional attachment in somebody who couldn't reciprocate until his untimely demise.

That wasn't to say he hadn't been cruel himself. With little understanding of emotion, and little interest in understanding, he'd never been kind to her. He offered her no comfort when she needed it, and his blunt honesty was sharper to her than any sword. Yet, somehow, she took pity on him. She wanted to help him to understand and feel, to recognize the importance of something as simple as a touch or a smile. She'd managed, but far too late. He was gone now. She'd never be able to share feelings with him. She'd never be able to befriend him, nor teach him how fulfilling it was to hold the hand of another person. He was gone.

She swallowed a deep breath, trying to push the images of the dying man from her mind. Why this was affecting her so deeply, she couldn't understand. She ambled along with her head hung and her eyes cast to the ground, glancing up at no point in time. Whether she found her way home or not, she didn't care. The only thing that she cared about was that her feet took her somewhere-anywhere-and she could continue to think. Perhaps there was some other path she could have taken to prevent the loss of the people she cared for. No matter how many times she racked her brain, searching for answers, she could find none.

Taking another deep breath, she sped a little faster down the sidewalks in hopes of getting wherever she was going faster. She passed by random faces and bodies that she'd never before seen and that she would never see again and that she would never recognize. None of them had faces, shapes, sizes, names, color, or significance. They all began to fade, silhouettes and blobs of gray, meaningless beings. She had no desire to recognize a face. She had no desire to touch or feel or understand; this much was true for the Inoue girl as she trudged along, bumping into some, brushing past others.

Her fingers dangled at her sides with little purpose. From time to time, she would clench her fists and then release the pressure that her fingernails inflicted upon her palms. Now, though, she paid little attention to whether or not she was feeling pain.

And then, as if to spite her, the hand of another brushed past hers. Long, strong fingers slipped across hers, and she was broken away from her thoughts. She paused, staring at the ground for a long moment before she caught her breath and spun on her heel to stare. She didn't have time to counter her slight whimper when she caught sight of the back of his head. The dark hair that fell to his shoulders, the pale skin, the lean musculature of his body; such a physique could belong to one person, and one person only.

She didn't run. She didn't follow after him, she simply stared, watching as the back of the familiar head receded further into the crowd, and eventually disappeared around a corner. Only then did she rush from her place on the sidewalk to meet him.

As she reached the corner, skidding to a stop to regard with a bright smile the man that she'd come to know, she found nothing. Nobody, it seemed, stayed dead except for those whom she cared for. Her bright eyes lost their luster once more, and her lips grew cold with sadness and fear as it dawned on her that she was alone again. She was alone, here, for now. There was nobody to haunt her, or comfort her, or tell her the truth, or tell her lies. Her smile faded as she stared down the street where she was _sure_ she'd seen him disappear.

Perhaps, she thought, she'd been tricked by her own mind. Perhaps, after all, it had been just another civilian like her, walking down the street with no purpose. He was gone now, and she turned to continue on her way with her wary eyes and her jaded spirit. The only thing left behind of anything was the smell of smoke travelling away on the wind.


End file.
